the muse, thank you’s and guest blogs too!

So many voices talking in my head, so little time.

First of all, I want to say a huge Thank You to those who have read my blog and joined in as followers.  It blows me away that in less than a week someone has actually read this thing.  A writer can write all she wants, even get published, but is NOTHING without a reader!  So again, THANK YOU!

Since beginning this blog on Aug. 31, 2012, this process of writing every day has not only helped start swirling ideas in my head, but it’s also helped shape some characters.  Due to this blog (and your support), I just began jotting down summaries for a two-part series!  I have the heroes and heroines all ready to go and a common denominator linking them together.  Hopefully by the end of the week I’ll have a good outline mapped out for the first novel.  Even better would be both books, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.  I still have to put in the full-time job aspect of my life.  For now.

Speaking of jobs, it rhymes with blobs, and adding a “-g” you get blog.  (Nice transition, eh? My husband, Pilot loves The Music Man.)  Today marked my first submission as a “guest blogger.” Never been a guest blogger before. Then again, I’ve never been an actual blogger until this week. If he likes the article, then we can march right into successful guest blogger.  If my submission is given the “ok,” I’ll let you know.

Have any of you ever guest blogged?  If so, what was your topic?

Well, nothing else left to report. I’ve got a two-book series to start!

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 4: What world does your character exist in? Real or imagined? Scientific? Fantastical? Write a scene where your character is shown in their world.

This is a scene taken in a fictitious town, deeply hidden in the mountains.

Brigitte tends to her plot, her hands chapped and worn from removing weeds and clipping dead brush.  Standing back up, she stretches her back, lifting her hand to shade her eyes.  Viktor is here.

She looks down the path from her stone cottage.  Settled up the mountain a few miles from town, the view made her breath catch in chest as it did every morning.  The stream caught the light winking back its cool temptation to her.  

 Maybe he will join me for a swim.

Hearing hooves pounding the packed earth approaching her cottage, she dusted off her hands as a man on horseback appeared up the path.  Brigitte feels a warm smile spread across her face and waves in anticipation.

As Viktor opens his mouth in greeting, a piercing sound echoes from the nearby woods. Then, the thunderous roar of a bear. A sense of dread washes over her as she next recognizes the swansong of a dying man.  Viktor reaches out to her, his previously gentle face now hardened, his brow furrowed and lips pressed into a grim line.

“We must hurry.” It wasn’t a question.

She grasps his leathered hands and he lifts her in front of him onto the saddle. Each rider silently prays while flying through the woods.

The usual crisp mountain air is tainted as the forest holds a fog of sharp copper, flooding her lungs with its pungent aroma.  As they reach a clearing, the bear appears to have gone.  On the ground was a sight that made Brigitte’s heart drop to her stomach. The attack is apparent and unforgiving. Gashes from claws, sharper than any sword have stripped the trees of their bark, the deep impressions of fingernails in the soft earth leaving channels of a man being dragged against his will.

Facedown in a pool of blood, his shirt slashed and tattered, stained with the dark purple-crimson of a fresh wound, staining the lush moss littering the ground. His shoulder-length hair stuck to his face, tattooing his features with red. A stranger to these lands.

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